


a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

by CS_WhiteWolf



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Frottage, M/M, Play Fighting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CS_WhiteWolf/pseuds/CS_WhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardison always walks in on the weirdest things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

There's a lot the team knows about his past; living with so many people for a number of years leaves little room for secrets. At the same time however there's a whole lot of things they don't know about, things that Hardison can't hack his way into finding out and information that Sophie can't talk him into sharing. He's got quite a bit of history he's keeping quiet and if there's anything Eliot Spencer wants, it's to keep that history quiet.

So when Dean Winchester swaggers his way back into his life three years after he started playing ball with the team, a cat-got-the-cream smile upon his lips at seeing and recognising him, the first thing Eliot thinks is ' _fuck'_ , closely followed by a sucker-punch to Dean’s solar plexus.

He mutters something to Nate about hitters and going on without him whilst simultaneously dragging a hunched-over Dean out into a nearby stairwell. He’s about to, well, not _apologise_ per se, but maybe attempt to explain his actions as the door _snicks_ closed behind them, when Dean turns on him, his hunched position giving him the leverage needed to tackle Eliot back into the door; he feels his breath leave him in a whoosh at the impact and manages a quick suck of air before a fist comes out of nowhere to sock him across the jaw.

Eliot shoves out, palms hitting flesh with a satisfying _smack_. He shakes the flash of pain from his head and grins a bloody-toothed smile at Dean a second before he launches himself at him with flying fists.

He’s both impressed and annoyed that Dean still manages to keep up with him; giving as good as he gets, avoiding some of Eliot’s older tricks whilst simultaneously managing to surprise him with some new and unexpected moves. It’s frustrating, and invigorating, and damn if Eliot isn’t actually having a bit of fun with this.

Suddenly he’s not hitting out to incapacitate anymore and, perhaps more surprisingly, Dean starts playing back, his punches turning less violent, his kicks losing some of their, well, _kick_.

Eliot grins again, watching Dean shoot him his own bloodied smile, as Eliot gets him up against a wall, one arm laid across his throat as he presses the entire length of his body into Dean’s.

“Just like old times,” Dean purrs at him; his voice a rough growl, chest heaving from their exertions and Eliot lets loose a rumbling chuckle remembering the bar-fighting days they shared back in the day.

He remembers the times where they’d backed each other up in fights for cash, stumbling into motel rooms in the early morning hours with bloodied faces and shredded knuckles and patched each other up with bandages and antiseptics and, one night, with the adrenaline still pumping them high from the success of the night, they’d patched each other up with rough kisses and harsh hands and a continuous play for dominance that left them falling spent and exhausted in each others arms; bodies sweat slicked and sheets a tangled and bloodied mess upon the floor.

“Not yet it’s not,” Eliot says, leaning in, his teeth biting at Dean’s mouth; nipping and tugging and sucking at his bottom lip without regards to Dean’s hisses and whimpers and the way he begins to undulate his body up against Eliot’s own.

He tastes blood and something minty and he moans his way into Dean’s mouth, his tongue laving its way past Dean’s bruised lips in a manner daring Dean to bite him back. As always, Dean gives him as good as he gets and Eliot doesn’t know whether to moan or growl as Dean bites sharply at his tongue before soothing at it with his own.

He feels Dean’s hands circle round to cup at his ass and he growls low in his throat, thrusting his hips in hard once, twice, even as he moves his free hand down Dean’s side, pressing his fingers in a bruise-tight grip against his hip and holding Dean’s own thrusting body down hard against the wall, giving himself the chance to kick Dean’s legs easily apart, his thigh inserting itself with needy ease just as the door to the stairwell banged suddenly open, startling them both into freezing.

“Ummm…” begins a voice that sets Eliot’s teeth into a gnawing grind. “Nate was wondering what was, er, taking you so long?”

Eliot turns his head to look at Hardison who is staring with undisguised shock and curiosity between him and Dean, and Eliot feels a split-second spike of panic at the look in Hardison’s eyes before Dean saves him from having to explain their compromising positions by quickly head-butting him. Though the blow isn’t hard enough to force Eliot away from him, it is enough to get him to release his hold on Dean long enough for Dean to grab the arm across his neck and- in a twist-and-shove move that hurts like a bitch- propel Eliot away from him.

Before Eliot can manage a curse of pain at the move, Dean’s down two-flights of stairs and out the fire exit without so much as a word.

“What the fuck, Hardison?” Eliot spits, rounding on the hacker who looks at him with widened eyes. “I just about had him there!” He doesn’t wait for a reaction, or the questions he can see flashing across Hardison’s face, as he shoulders his way past him and out into the main building.

He smirks to himself once he’s out of sight though, and brings the arm Dean twisted up from his side and eyes the slip of paper Dean had shoved into the palm of his hand. Eyeing the scrawled address of a nearby motel, Eliot licks his lips in anticipation of this case being over.

 **  
_  
fin.  
_   
**


End file.
